


Lucidity

by alp



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Brief mention of the rest of the Rogue One crew, Developing Relationship, Dreams, F/M, Fear of Abandonment, Fingering, Injury Recovery, Non-penetrative sexual contact, Post-Scarif, Sexual Fantasy, Some angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension, fear of intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 05:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alp/pseuds/alp
Summary: After Scarif, Jyn visits Cassian, and is confronted by her feelings for him.





	Lucidity

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a version of this in my head for, gosh, almost two years now, and I finally decided to go ahead and jot it down. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy it!

It was evening, on the third day, when she got permission.

Jyn moved down the short, narrow corridor that connected the main part of the med bay to the bacta chamber. Her crutch tapped against the floor, dug into the flesh of her underarm. Medical droids walked and whirred past her. Most of the bay was open air -- her part of it certainly was -- but back here, there were two private recovery rooms. She stopped. One door was open. The other was closed. It was obvious which one was his.

Cassian had been submerged for the better part of two days. No one had told her what had happened once he’d been taken out, because no one legally could (she wondered what legality meant in the context of a rebellion, but that was a whole genre of navel-gazing in which she had only a passing, if presently personal, interest). Still, she’d read between the lines and gathered that he’d had some sort of surgery. She didn’t consider herself a patient person. She could hurry up and wait with the best of them, but only under certain circumstances, and only while bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was twitchy from the waiting. From the not knowing. From being only a few meters from him, and yet unable to see, unable to check, unable to know.

He’d been so heavy in her arms, when they’d touched down. There’d been fluid in his breaths. Film over his eyes.

Well. She’d been a thorn in the side of any and all personnel within talking range, because what else was she going to do when she wasn’t cleared to leave and wasn’t cleared to see a comrade, and that was at last coming to an end. They’d told her he could receive visitors. She’d gathered her crutch and hobbled off at once. Now, she stood at the closed door. Her pulse quickened. The heat of the world and the weight of her crystal were front and center.

Pure silliness. She wanted to see him. There was no reason to be nervous. _There’s every reason to be nervous_. She filled her lungs and stepped forward.

The room was small. The ceiling was dotted with lights, but their glow was eaten by the temple’s stone. There was a short couch along the wall closest to her, with a chrono above it; on the opposite side, with its end tucked into the far corner, was the hospital bed. _Cassian._ Dressed in the standard tunic, cut similarly to the one they’d given her, but of a darker shade, and folding lower on the chest. His head was tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. When the door hissed shut, they snapped down and focused on her. His features changed -- a drawing together, an opening up. He pushed himself back, digging his elbows into the mattress. The sheets bunched under his hands. He might have winced.

“Jyn,” he said. His voice was soft.

She hovered by the door. “Hey.” Her fingers closed and unclosed over the bar of the crutch.

“Hey.” He looked at her left leg, then back up at her face. “How are you?”

She shrugged. The injection sites on her leg were sore. She lacked full range of motion in her right shoulder. Her recovery would take six to twelve weeks. “Could be worse.” Could be what he was going through. “You?”

He huffed, and his gaze fell. “Exhausted.”

“I’ll bet.”

They looked at one another. She wasn’t quite smiling at him, and he wasn’t quite doing the same. The eye contact was steady and made something unfurl in her chest. He pressed his fists into the bed, shifted closer to the wall.

“It makes my leg hurt just to look at you.” He indicated the space beside himself. “Sit down.”

She did not look at the couch. She did not look at it, but she thought about it, and hesitated. He had a narrow hospital bed, and it didn’t make sense to take space away from him when there was a perfectly good place to sit only a meter away. But, well. He’d asked. She settled down next to him, stretching out her leg, propping the crutch. Her hip brushed against his thigh.  The mattress was no softer than her own. That didn’t seem right, given the givens.

He was hooked up to a drip, and to a monitor. The latter was beeping, steady and even. His complexion was off.

“How are you really?”

His eyes rolled back toward the ceiling. “I may need another surgery.”

That confirmed he’d had one. “That’s not what I meant.”

He paused. He didn’t look at her. There were butterflies in her stomach. At length, he said, “I might ask you the same.”

She almost laughed. “Fair enough.”

A beat. “So.” He arched an eyebrow. “Stardust?”

Prickles, up and down the back of her neck. Of course he’d have to go with that. It was an exposed nerve, and she wasn’t at all ready to let him poke it. She answered him with a single slow nod.

He regarded her, eyes searching. “Another time, then.” He inclined his head. “If you want to.”

“We’ll see.”

They lapsed into silence. She thought of all the things that she could ask him, all the things that she found herself wanting to know. _Where are you from? Who was your family? What happened to them? What did you do, when you were six? Did you have someone to guide you, like I thought I did?_ All of it seemed inappropriate right now. As open as he seemed, she doubted he’d appreciate her prying after she’d just been circumspect.

She glanced up at the monitor. His heart rate was on the low side, but his blood pressure was very good. “The others are doing well,” she found herself saying. “Bodhi’s joining a squadron. I’m not sure what Baze and Chirrut are planning, but they’re here for now.”

“We’ll find a place for them.”

“You think they’ll stay.”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

There was no need for him to spell it out, and she was glad that he didn’t. Her expression turned amused. She cocked her head toward him. “You’d be surprised.” People left, sometimes, for no good reason at all.

“Maybe. But I doubt it.” He shifted, pushing himself further up. “What about you?”

She frowned. “What?”

He took her hand. She looked down at it, blinked. When they’d been fleeing the magnificent mess they’d made, he had dropped all of his walls. She’d been given the full view, after a handful of glimpses, and there was an aspect of that in the way he sounded now. “What are you going to do?”

She stared at him. To her shock, she realized that she hadn’t been thinking about it. She should have been. She’d done what had been asked of her, and more besides. They’d offered freedom. They’d _hurt_ her, and he had hurt her. She should be gone.

But he’d also been there for her, and she wasn’t gone. There was something more important here. It wasn’t as if she’d ever not known it. It was...complicated. Which was, of course, the reason why she avoided thinking on it. She turned her palm upward, bringing it flush with his. His touch was very, very warm. It spread up her arm. “Haven’t made up my mind.”

He swallowed. She watched his throat move, noticing the stubble creeping down his neck. They ought to let a man shave. His thumb passed over her wrist. The sensation was sharply pleasant.  

His sheets were bright. The floor was dark. The wall was formed by uneven blocks, arranged in a way that seemed planned. The pattern was not significant to her. Given time, and interest, she could probably figure it out. Not that there was any point. Outside the door, she heard a muffled snippet of conversation, growing louder, louder, and then quieter, as the speakers passed by.

She knew what was going on, here. Oh yes, she did. Her mind screamed at her to run. _He seems different, but…_ “I was thinking I might stick around.” _No. No no no, get out._ “At least until we’ve taken care of the Death Star.” Yes, that made sense. That was the right course. See the work through, see the menace destroyed, and then reevaluate. Nothing to do with him.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. It was the widest smile he’d ever given her. She liked it. She liked it a lot. His thumb moved again, rolling over her pulse. “I’d like it if you did.”

Her heart beat faster. _Run. Now._ “Oh?”

“We make a good team.”

She paused. “We do.” It was objectively true. Her feelings had nothing to do with it.

“And I meant what I said before.” He leaned forward, just a fraction. “This can be home, if you want it to be.”

The air went out of the room. Her chest swelled. She stared at him, unable to reply. His eyes slid away, landing on the wall behind her. There was something more, something that he wasn’t saying. Crazy; he’d already said so much. Was it because he’d come so close to death? It couldn’t be the first time he’d had a brush with it. His grip on her hand tightened. The longing and the need she felt were unexpected and stupid, and they amplified the voice in her head, the one that was telling her to run, the one that was telling her that things would end the way they always did. And yet, this was pleasant and sweet and she wanted to be on the straight and narrow, she wanted direction, she wanted to be doing something more than just surviving, and his eyes were shifting back to hers, and his mouth was opening, he had her back, he supported her…

The door zoomed into its pocket with an hydraulic sigh. She whipped her head around. A droid walked into the room, his chassis a matte gray, aged. Exposed tubing and wiring dotted his frame.

“2-1B,” Cassian said.

“Cassian Andor,” the droid responded. The broken copper of his eyes focused on Jyn, then shifted away. “I apologize for the interruption, but I must complete an assessment.”

The spell, if it could be called one, was broken. With a quick glance toward Cassian, Jyn stood and hopped to the opposite side of the room. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Grimaced.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Stand, please.” 2-1B stepped forward. He held a device that Jyn didn’t immediately recognize. Cassian grimaced again. She wanted him to say whatever it was he’d been holding at bay, and also very much didn’t. “I will be starting with your back.”

Cassian reached up to push the tunic from his shoulder, and for a moment, she froze. He didn’t seem to care or to notice. He did as instructed, without hesitation, with her right there. There was a comfortability to it that she didn’t know how to parse. It was probably a mistake. He wasn’t thinking ( _he’s always thinking_ ). She should be looking away. Instead, her gaze traced the path of his clothing, and she took in his skin, and his hair, and the lines and planes and definition, and swallowed hard.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Turned. “I’ll come back later.”

“No need.”

Her skin was tingling. “What?”

“It’s fine,” Cassian said. “I don’t mind if you stay.”

He’d misinterpreted. Kriff, he thought she meant to leave out of _courtesy._ She looked at the door. _Run._ She looked at the couch. 2-1B warned that something would hurt, and, just after, Cassian loudly sucked in a breath.

_Get out get out get out get out._

Another breath. A grunt, low, from the back of his throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen.

_Someone should be here. He stayed with you; stay with him._

She sat down. The droid examined him, and her stomach twisted and burned, and she kept her gaze, pointedly, on the floor.

 

* * *

 

The chrono read 21:40.

Jyn wasn’t sure what to do. Cassian had fallen asleep. The check-up had been mostly positive: his internals were healing well, and although he needed the second back surgery, its scope would be more limited than had first been recommended. Still, it had wiped him out. Made sense. He’d been fatigued from the start.

They’d talked more. His words had been slow and sleepy, and they’d never circled back to where they’d been headed earlier. She’d been relieved and disappointed at the same time. And she hadn’t pushed it. Hadn’t pushed anything. Hadn’t asked any of the questions still swirling around in her head ( _what do you like? What do you do when you’re off-duty?_ ). He’d asked if she knew anything about what was going on on base (not much; even Bodhi was given only directly relevant information). He’d asked if she thought something might be wrong (hard to tell, sequestered as she was). He’d asked about K-2, who’d certainly show up soon, now that visitors were okay’d.

“Surly, when I saw him.”

“Doing well, then.”

And he’d asked her idle things, safe things. It was...nice, surprisingly so. It was warm.

Now, well. Now was the time to go, surely. She’d had that thought twenty minutes ago, when his eyelids had first drifted down, and yet here she was, looking back over her shoulder and contemplating the time. There was no expectation for her to stay. She was tired herself, and she had a bed waiting for her down the hall. It wasn’t private, but it did its job. Privacy was a luxury, anyway.

_He’ll wake up alone._ Wouldn’t be the first time. _He wanted me here._ She thought, perhaps, that he wanted a lot of things. _She_   wanted a lot of things, and they all scared the shit out of her. Could be she was just projecting. She looked down at the cushion beneath her hand. She wondered how good a night’s sleep she could get behind a closed door, in the presence of a friend.

Would he find it weird, that she’d conked out here? Did she care?

Not at the moment, no.

She reclined, extending her leg. Her foot stuck out over the armrest. Well, it would do. Cassian made a movement in his sleep, and a noise under his breath. She glanced over at him, considered the way his chest rose and fell, and the way his features looked in repose. She thought about the feel of his hand in hers. She thought about the sound of his voice, about the lines that formed around his eyes when he smiled. She recalled, with a touch of guilt, how he’d looked when he’d slipped the tunic from his shoulder. She closed her eyes.

And opened them slowly, blinking. The world was hazy, wrapped in a halo of fading sleep. She sucked in a deep breath and stretched. Narrowed her gaze.

Cassian was there.

He had been already, of course, but across the room, in his bed, wired up. That was not where he was now, not at all. He was sitting, with his arm on the back of the couch, his hip just touching her thigh. When had he walked over? _Why_ had he? She rolled her head to the side. The monitor was black.

“What…?”

He furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?” His voice had a roughness to it that made a jolt rush up her spine. She realized her hand was on his knee. She realized she liked how close he was, that her skin was hot through her trousers, where his body was touching hers. She looked up at him, and blinked again.

_Yes_ , yes, that’s right. Her leg was hurting ( _no it wasn’t, no more than usual)_ , she’d laid down, he’d walked over so they could keep talking ( _no he hadn’t_ ). He was fine. The body needed rest after a bacta treatment. But he was growing less and less fatigued by the hour ( _no, that’s not right_ ). Of course it was right. He was strong ( _yes, but 2-1B came, and…_ ). They’d kept talking.

She crinkled her brow. The world fuzzed, and then resolved into clarity. “Nothing,” she said. “Sorry.”

He smiled. It was small and guarded, but it was definitely a smile. His fingertips ghosted over her knuckles, and then he reached up, and brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She shivered. Her abdomen felt tight and warm in a way that it hadn’t in years, not since… Well, she wasn’t going to think about that right now. Her hand tightened around Cassian’s knee. His smile vanished, but his eyes were very deep and very dark, and the look he gave her was arresting. She licked her lips.

She reflected that she hardly knew him, and that he hardly knew her. But he’d gone and been a bunch of things that almost no one else had ever bothered to be, and he looked very good right now, with his hair falling just so and his tunic bowing outward, revealing chest hair and skin. It felt so nice when he touched her. She reached up, grabbed a handful of fabric, and tugged him toward her. Her shoulder barely hurt, and he leaned in with enthusiasm.

His lips were soft and warm. He kissed her sweetly, his hand snaking up behind her head, putting light pressure on her scalp. She cupped his cheek. Her fingers were along the slope of his neck, behind his ear; her thumb was at his cheekbone. Her other arm dangled back behind her head, over the armrest, her hand curling into a loose fist. He swept his tongue through her mouth. She lifted her hips, dropped them again, pressed her legs together, and felt him shift. His knee was on the cushions, now, and more of him was on top of her, and his elbow was between her and the back of the couch.

What was this? What were they doing? It was so fast, so soon. Anyone could walk through the door. She was so hot. Her palm rubbed against his stubble. She dragged her fingers along the line of his jaw, pushed the side of her thumb into the side of his neck, pulled it down, grabbed his shoulder, kneaded it, wrapped her hand around his nape. He fanned his fingers over the back of her head, and his other hand fell on the arm she’d thrown back. He squeezed it.

She gasped into his mouth and pulled away. _Why had that…_ His eyelids were low over his eyes. His gaze roved up and down her face, so slow, so desirous. Her heart fluttered. Her breaths went ragged.

_Tell me._

What was that thought?

She wanted something from him. At the edge of her consciousness, she could sense… The words weren’t forming. But whatever they were, she wanted him to say them. She was willing him to say them. _That doesn’t make…_ Oh, shut up.

He shifted again, picking up his leg, pushing it between hers. It brought him closer. It brought him on top of her. His hand slid up her arm, to her elbow.

“Jyn,” he whispered, so close, right against her mouth. She lifted her chin up and captured him again. He sucked on her bottom lip. Without thinking, she bucked her hips, and he groaned, and he closed the fist that was in her hair, sending sparks shooting across her scalp.

_Say it._

His fingertips danced away from her head, down the side of her face, over her shoulder, along her arm, to where her hand was. He took it, and tugged it back, back, over the armrest, placing it beside the other. Her thumbs bumped together. His waist was flush with hers, and she could feel his arousal, and oh Force, oh Force. She was breathing so hard. Her eyes flicked down to his lips; her own were parted, and she wet them.

He bent down, until he was right beside her ear, until his breaths were washing over it and his whiskers were tickling her, so warm, so good, making her hips roll. He brought his knee up, to the apex of her thighs, and she sucked air through her teeth.

“I’ll stay,” he said. He nipped her earlobe. “I'm different, Jyn. I won’t leave you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. _That’s it. That’s it._

He kissed her behind her ear, and all down her neck, to the crook of her shoulder. She ground against his thigh. It was a shame his hips weren’t pressing against her any longer, but she could get behind this. He nudged her jaw with his nose. She tilted her head back. His lips and tongue moved to the hollow of her throat, and he focused his attention on a tender spot near her pulse, and she whimpered.

“I’ll always come back.” He bit her lip; she sucked on his. With one hand, he circled her wrists; the other moved, trailing lightly down her side, to her hip, and then to her uninjured leg, drawing it up. His fingers dug into the underside of her thigh. Her skin was inflamed. There was pressure in her belly and pressure against it, and he felt good, and he _smelled_ good, and it had been so long since she’d wanted someone this much.

“Cassian,” she breathed.

His hand wandered under the ends of her tunic, to her bare skin, making her tremble. He tugged at her trousers.

“Tell me what you like.” He ran his thumb back and forth over the space where her thigh met her torso, edging ever closer to her core. Jolts of lust ripped through her gut. Her chest heaved.

_Kriff…_ How was this happening? How was he saying and doing these things? All these perfect things.

“I…” She gulped. She’d never been asked that before, even by… No, no, don’t think of that. What did she like? What did she want? His lower thigh right where her clit could reach it was a good start. She flexed one of her hands, and he released it, and she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him fiercely. Slid her fingers down his chest. Slipped them beneath the waistband of his own trousers. The sound he made buzzed on her tongue.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She looked up at him, waiting. When he nodded, she wrapped her hand around him. There were clouds in his eyes. “Keep going, and let’s find out.”

His lips edged upwards. He slid his knee back so that his thumb could press against her, moved it in a nice, slow circle, and she closed her eyes and writhed, and he twitched within her palm.

Someone was going to enter. Someone was going to wander by and notice. _No, they aren’t._ That shouldn’t make sense. It made all the sense in the galaxy.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered again. His fingers traveled downwards and entered her, easily, she was so slick; he shifted his thumb, dragging the heel of his palm over her clit. “I’ll stay.” Fluid, on her own thumb. His hips moving. He was so, so warm. She pressed her nose into his neck and breathed in. He rubbed her, and finger-fucked her, with his lips and tongue below and behind and on her ear, and her arousal built, and she rocked and moaned. She couldn’t believe how much he turned her on. She couldn’t believe how close she already was. She shouldn’t be, but she was, she was. She arched up. He increased the pressure and crooked his fingers. Just a little more, just a little more and she’d be there, kriff, he was so hard for her, he was thrusting into her hand, she should...

Somewhere, nearby, a loud clatter.

Her eyes snapped open.

Yellow lights, stone walls. She was alone on the couch. Breathing hard. Aching. She swallowed, turned her head.

Cassian was asleep in his bed. The monitor beside him was humming. It was not all black. Out in the corridor, someone shouted at someone else, who shouted back, and then there was nothing. Jyn pushed herself up.  

_Shit shit shit._

A dream. A _dream._

She was so wet. _Shit._ What was she, some horny teenager? Her gaze flew back to Cassian. She felt a deep flush of embarrassment, an irrational sense that he knew, he knew, he must know. Could’ve heard her breathing, or, Force, what if she’d moaned aloud? _Shit!_   That wasn’t so. That wasn’t possible. He was out, and she hadn’t moved. Ridiculous, all of it. Her staccato thoughts, her hot skin, the fact that she’d just had a _karking sex dream_ about Cassian Andor while he was sleeping on the other side of the room.

The fact that she was still on fire from it. The fact that she wanted to drop right back into it.

_She knew what was going on, here._

She needed to leave. She needed to leave right now.

She was only half-conscious of what she was doing. Instinct, habit, took over, the earlier impulse to run growing loud and angry and insistent. She yanked herself to her feet, moving too quickly, gritting her teeth as a bolt of pain shot up her leg. Thoughts cascading. It was too far, too much. All those perfect words she’d conjured… The tap of the crutch was deafening. She winced. Stopped. He was still sleeping, thankfully. He hadn’t stirred at all.

_He’ll wake up alone._

It was fine, it was all right. She had to go. The walls were so close.

The door shut behind her, and the air felt heavy in her lungs. It was much louder out here. Voices, footfalls, tones and buzzes and beeps, tin-can announcements. She hadn’t realized how much she’d appreciated the quiet of his room. She couldn’t be in there, though. She couldn’t be with him when she was like this. She had so many expectations, and they were so high, and it didn’t matter how often he’d surprised her or how much it looked, seemed, sort of felt like he was trying to be real with her (he was a spy, wasn’t he?) -- he’d never be able to live up to them. She shouldn’t put that on him. She shouldn’t want him.

She _wanted_ to want him, because it was part of the something more.

_He stayed._

It was so stupid. She knew the price of catching feelings. She should have left earlier, instead of carrying on, mooning over kriffing _hand-holding._

She made it to the end of the corridor before stopping again. Her bed was two rows down and to the right. The curtain beside it was closed. It would be all right. A little bit of distance, some time to calm down, to get her feelings under control. To get her body to cool off. His guard would come back up, at least partially; she was sure of it. It would help. They could be friendly, but detached. The thought made her heart hollow out and her stomach take a nosedive.

The floor buzzed with activity. Patients slept, reclined, were seen to. She didn’t move. She slumped against her crutch. A sentient wearing nurse colors paused beside her.

“Is everything all right?”

Without thinking, she took a step back, squaring herself. Nodding mutely. The nurse’s inner eyelids, translucent, curled over their eyes, then peeled back.

“Resting, then?”

Jyn pressed her lips together. “Sure.” Force, she didn’t need them tattling on her to her doctor. “I was just heading back to bed now.”

They cocked their head. “Good. Sleep well.” They lingered. And when they moved on, it was slow. They were going to make sure that she did as she’d said, and they were going to tell themselves that it was because they were concerned for her health. Well, she knew the lay of things, and…

She still wasn’t moving. She was hesitating. She was suspended between states.

_This can be home, if you want it to be._

She did. She did, so much. She wanted to pay the price, even if it hurt like all the hells. She was an idiot. Then again, where had being smart ever gotten her?

She took a deep, steadying breath. Nervous energy churned in her gut. The humid air made her tunic stick to her skin.

_Shit._

 

* * *

 

Cassian woke to a pinprick of light. It was a star, a sun, in partial eclipse. Slowly, the dark receded. Errant lines resolved, and he recognized a ceiling, fixtures, tubes. He rolled his head to the side. Machinery. Balled his hand into a fist. Felt the IV. Felt the pads.

Ah. All right.

He took a deep breath. Still in medical. Still immobile (mostly). Still medicated. A frustrating inconvenience. There were so many things that he needed and wanted to do. There were people he needed to speak to. Or -- maybe not; maybe it was better if he didn't. The larger picture was clear and stark in a way that he didn’t think it had been in years. It required a new kind of action. Both the cause and his soul demanded it.

Beyond that, well. He’d had the loveliest dream. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

He began to sit. Someone was moving in the room. He felt his body preparing, though he knew that, logically, there was no threat, and even if there was, he wasn't in a state to do anything about it. The mattress depressed. He looked up. There was a woman, her face bracketed by strands of brown hair, her expression somewhere between concerned and not. Her eyes were a wonderful shade of green. There was a crystal on a tether, visible over the fold of her tunic. Her hand drifted toward his, and he gladly took it.

_Jyn._

He smiled. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all.


End file.
